


Libido Knows Best

by ilcuoreardendo



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Challenge Response, F/M, Fallout Kink Meme, Imagination, Kink Meme, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2012-12-06
Packaged: 2017-11-20 11:48:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long day of travel, the Courier's imagination gets the better of her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Libido Knows Best

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in Sept 2011 for the Fallout Kink Meme. Someone wanted F!Courier solo play and this is what came out of that prompt. I consider this a kink stand alone. (I'm writing a fic arc with Isa and I'm not certain this happens in said arc, so...)

* * *

  
  
It's hours into the new morning and Isa's beyond exhausted, slumped on the old bed, in the shack of a farm she'd discovered some miles outside Nipton. And she can't fucking sleep; her skin is buzzing from the day's travel.  
  
She rolls onto her back, stares up into the gloom around the ceiling.  
  
The movement scrapes her rough undershirt across her bare nipples and she feels an answering tingle between her legs. And suddenly she's thinking about the last guy she was with. Back in Klamath.  
  
Fuck, that was over six months ago.  
  
No wonder she's so pent up.  
  
Kyle was pretty...  
  
Isa sighs, slips one hand under her shirt, between her breasts, rests the other low on her belly.  
  
Dark hair, pale eyes, long, lean limbs, just enough hair on his chest for her to curl her fingers into and tug.  
  
And he'd liked that. Hissed in her ear when she'd done it; told her to do it again. Harder.  
  
Her fingers slip past the waistband on her pants, the clasp having been effortlessly thumbed open. She's already slick, sensitive; she ghosts her fingers over her clit, remembering the light rub of his tongue there, the heat of his seeking mouth.  
  
The moan she lets out echoes off the walls of the shack and she startles, snickers into her shoulder.  
  
Abandoned farm or not, she's not sure of the soundproofing and she doesn't need some random passerby investigating the strange moans.  
  
She bites her cheek, lets her head roll against the musty mattress, remembers the brush of his cock against her lips, the way he'd cupped her head and slid into her mouth; the way she curled her tongue around him just.... _so_.  
  
His moan trailed down her spine like fingers. "I want to fuck your mouth," he'd said, his voice like Klamath honey mead, dark and rich.  
  
Isa's eyes fly open and she rips her hand away from her crotch.  
  
Because that is _not_ Kyle's voice in her head.  
  
 _It's fortunate that you happened by..._  
  
It's the man from Nipton. The pack leader.  
  
" _Hijo de puta_ ," she growls.  
  
 _What's the matter?_ says the voice. _No one else will know._  
  
"I'll know."  
  
She can practically see his smirk, hanging there in the dark. _I'm not even real. Just a product of your delightful imagination._  
  
"My overworked imagination can go fuck itself," she mutters, turning over on her belly.

Oh. Fuck. That makes it worse.  
  
Her hips push into the mattress without her permission.  
  
 _What harm is there in taking your pleasure where you find it? Haven't you always lived by that?_  
  
She breathes deep. "That pleasure doesn't usually come in the form of fucking mass-murdering slavers," she whispers. To herself. Because there is no one else here, damn it. And her traitorous hand is already snaking beneath her hips, into her pants.  
  
And... _oh_.  
  
"Fuck," she hisses.  
  
 _Precisely_ , says the honey mead voice.  
  
Phantom hands press her shoulders to the mattress. She spreads her knees a little further, dips the tips of two fingers into her heat and imagines the blunt tip of a cock—his cock—pushing into her. Teasing. Shallowly thrusting.  
  
She moans into the mattress.  
  
His cock breaching her and his mouth trailing up her spine, tongue curling over the nape of her neck and teeth—yes, he would most certainly be a biter—scraping over her throat. Voice hissing in her ear, _I'm going to fuck you...until you can't walk straight._ And then those teeth sink into the joint of her neck and his cock into her body.  
  
Her hips jerk, grinding her clit against the heel of her palm and the mattress muffles her cry at the sudden orgasm; she lays still, breathing shallowly, feeling the smooth contract and release of her muscles around her fingers. Feeling faintly...filthy.  
  
And _Dios fucking mio_ but that was a ridiculous scenario.  
  
 _Yet it paid off. Did it not?_  
  
"Shut up," she murmurs, untangling herself and rolling onto her side, arms hugging her chest as a wave of exhaustion rolls over her and she closes her eyes.  
  
She dreams of fire. Heat searing her skin.  
  
Through the blaze, she can see his face.


End file.
